


Let's Meet In The Middle, My Love

by entanglednow



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley is a Mess (Good Omens), First Kiss, Idiots in Love, M/M, Misunderstandings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-24
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:55:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26627101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/entanglednow/pseuds/entanglednow
Summary: In which Aziraphale misreads a situation and Crowley has a moment.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 204
Kudos: 861





	Let's Meet In The Middle, My Love

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been floating around tumblr for the last few days, and I'd never seen fic that used it. So I thought I'd have a go.

"Could you please manage to keep at least one hand on the wheel at all times." Aziraphale is clearly resisting the urge to reach out and grasp part of the car, as if to reassure himself he's not going to be suddenly ejected out of it. Which makes no sense at all, since he's an astonishingly powerful ethereal being who doesn't have to obey things like the laws of gravity and momentum if he doesn't want to. "I'm finding it difficult to read the brochure."

Crowley bites back the immediate response he wants to give, which is that there's no possibility he'd let anything happen to him, and he should know that by now. Though watching Aziraphale gently flail around with the 'introducing the museum's new exhibits' section, while he winds his way through London traffic, has honestly been the highlight of his day so far. 

Crowley pulls a face and gestures at the wheel. "It's really just supervision though, isn't it? She does most of the work. Barely have to pay attention." He nudges the wheel so he can slip between two buses. "Almost a century, not a scratch."

"Except that time you crashed into Ms. Device," Aziraphale reminds him, which is very rude of him.

"Nrgh, no, that was under very stressful circumstances, and was mostly her fault, carrying books and not looking where she was going. She had no business riding a bicycle at night. Not that close to an apocalypse."

"And that time it caught fire and then fell to pieces," Aziraphale adds, as if he's just remembered.

Crowley flinches in his seat, because the angel's just being cruel now, that one still hurts.

"That didn't count, that was a necessary sacrifice and it was fixed in the do-over. I wasn't responsible for either of them."

"Hmm." Aziraphale gives him a look over his brochure.

"So, the museum," Crowley demands, louder than is probably necessary. "Cheesemaking, history of photography, something to do with horses." Another swing of the wheel, and the Bentley zips through a gap that's only wide enough if you looked at it sideways and held your breath. "Up for it next week some time?"

"I knew you were reading the brochure," Aziraphale mutters.

Crowley pulls a face. "I skimmed the brochure, had to see if there was anything mildly diverting, didn't I? The nineteenth century medical equipment has promise. I studied for a bit you know."

Aziraphale makes a dubious noise that strongly suggests he's about to put a boot in Crowley's proud moment.

"You went to two lectures and stole a skull, I'm not sure they give you a medical license for that."

"Nngha," Crowley argues, because he'd seen more bodies up close than anyone in that draughty room. He could have been a doctor if he'd wanted to be.

He lets the Bentley slide to a stop outside the bookshop, and Aziraphale is still making thrilled noises over what looks like either a cheese press or something designed to crush feet. Which means he's probably not listening to a word of Crowley's annoyed muttering about them digging up the road again, leaving their barricades and piles of rubble all over the bloody place - which he wants the Bentley nowhere near, thank you very much.

He sets one hand on the wheel, and the other he reaches back and curves over the top of Aziraphale's seat, the line of his thumb pressed against the solid warmth of the angel's shoulder blade in a way that he likes to think is casual enough to be unnoticeable. Then he turns in his seat, the leather creaking as he slowly leans over to get a good look out the rear window. Since he doesn't want the Bentley to go crashing into another lesser car, or a bin, or a pedestrian. Which is the order of their ability to damage it, and also the likelihood of them complaining.

Aziraphale looks up from his brochure, seems briefly surprised to find him so close, all the way over in his space almost. He blinks up at him, eyes widening, and then there's a quiet sigh that shakes across Crowley's mouth.

"Oh, oh, yes, of course," he whispers, and then he's sliding forward, erasing that last bit of space, fingers curling over Crowley's elbow.

Aziraphale's mouth presses softly and unexpectedly over his own, catching his sound of surprise. It's a gentle crush of lips that Crowley feels in slow motion, a spreading, impossible warmth. He can feel the flutter of the angel's eyelashes, the rapid pace of his heartbeat. He makes a helpless whining noise, hand skidding on the wheel.

Aziraphale is kissing him.

There's a few seconds of stillness, of sweetness and pressure, and then the angel's lips part under his, the sudden rush of his breath hot and damp. Crowley follows the movement, sinking into the space between the seats, letting Aziraphale in. He feels the moment they both give, let the kiss open out, and he's not prepared for the nudge of a tongue, or for the way he can suddenly _taste_ the angel - 

His whole leg jerks, foot kicking something it shouldn't, because he's not paying attention to anything that isn't his mouth or the crook of his elbow, where Aziraphale's fingers grip him tightly. But the car jolts, throwing them apart, and Crowley bites down on a curse as the back of the Bentley slams into something which doesn't want to get out of the way. There's the loud and unpleasant sound of metal hitting metal, and something breaks.

Crowley's glasses are somewhere in his lap and someone is yelling, the angel is looking from the back window to Crowley's shocked face with dawning horror.

"You were reversing," Aziraphale manages, and it comes out thin and horrified. "I thought -" He pushes himself straight, hands pressing together hard enough for the skin to make a dry, pained noise. "I'm so terribly sorry. I was mistaken." His mouth works for a moment but he can't seem to get anything else out. Crowley watches his hand jerk upwards for the door, reaching for the handle. He's going to leave, he's going to get out of the car and leave.

"No, no, no -" Crowley digs his fingers in the material of his pale coat and he's drawing him back where he'd been a moment ago, angled towards the centre of the car. He lifts both hands to cup the angel's face and crushes their mouths back together. Aziraphale makes a surprised noise, before his whole body relaxes, and he kisses him back. 

It's one desperate moment of delicious pressure, before Crowley abruptly pulls back, because he needs to say something, needs to offer words, the angel always needs words. "No, don't be sorry, don't you dare be sorry, if I'd known you wanted me to." It comes out angry, he doesn't mean it to, his hands are shaking. He sinks for another kiss, another second of perfect connection and a smothered noise of relief. "If I'd known you would let me -" Aziraphale's mouth is too close not to fall back into. 

Crowley's glasses go skidding to the floor, his knee hits the stereo and the intro to _Crazy Little Thing Called Love_ plays before he smacks it again and kills it.

"If I'd known that you'd just let me kiss you," Crowley says in a strangled tone. Still not quite believing it himself, even though he has Aziraphale's warm, beautiful face between his hands. He doesn't wait for Aziraphale's reply, the freedom to kiss him is still too new, too monumental, too incredible.

But Aziraphale's the one who tips his mouth free after one press.

"Crowley, I've been waiting for you to kiss me for _years_."

Someone is yelling outside.

"We're having a fucking moment here," Crowley yells back. The noise doesn't stop though, so he waves a hand and makes it, bringing London to a standstill. "Bless it, you could have said. I didn't expect you'd ever want me to -"

"I was so foolish, I thought you'd just been exceptionally brave -"

"I bloody would have been if I'd known - if I'd known I could have just kissed you," Crowley chokes out. "That you would have let me."

"Of course I would." Aziraphale sounds annoyed now, though Crowley thinks half of it's embarrassment. His lips are full and pink, still wet from Crowley's mouth, and that's still a lot to process. He's felt them soften under his own, felt the eager warmth of the angel's kisses. He has no idea how he's coping with this.

"You don't think I might have wanted to know that?" His voice sounds desperate, he's not surprised, if he'd known there could have been kissing.

"I was supposed to just blurt it out?" Aziraphale demands, the words flustered. "'Oh, by the way, I think it would be rather nice if you kissed me.'"

Crowley's mouth works but no sound comes out. He can't help but slip those words into every conversation they've ever had. Each of them is more horribly tempting than the last. They could have been kissing for years. Fuck, they could have been kissing for _centuries_. He swallows the blockage in his throat and tries to form words again.

"I mean, that would have done it," he points out honestly. "I would have kissed you. Always, never would have said no."

"Oh." Aziraphale looks surprised, and then he's smiling, so brightly that it feels like a blow to the chest. Crowley's never done anything that should have earned him a smile like that.

"Say it for me, angel," Crowley urges.

Aziraphale blinks, and then laughs, as if Crowley has asked him to do something very foolish

"I think it would be rather nice if you kissed me," he says quietly.

Crowley slithers to the edge of his seat and leans in. He kisses him. And London waits politely for them to finish.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Let's Meet In The Middle, My Love](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26772712) by [Djapchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Djapchan/pseuds/Djapchan)




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